


Distracting the Driver

by amber_sword_lilies



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chauffeur! Nyx, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 15:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_sword_lilies/pseuds/amber_sword_lilies
Summary: Nyx is tasked with driving our reader, an Altissian representative, and finds himself catching feelings, but will he act before it's too late?





	Distracting the Driver

Tuesday; 7:32am.

You darted around the hotel suite, throwing today’s essentials in your satchel. Your ferry had been delayed. Having arrived during the small hours, you’d crashed into the plush bed after a quick but much-needed shower and slept straight through your five alarms. As a result, you were now pelting around the room, hauling your clothes on and trying not to trip over the mess you’d made when you’d gutted your suitcase to find them.

In the midst of your cursing monologue, you were interrupted. You glared at the hotel phone for a full second before answering.

“Hello?”

“Ah, L/N?”

“Yes. What is it?” You toed into your shoes, trying to bite back the stress at having your rampaging routine inconvenienced by someone who was taking far too long to say what needed said.

“There’s a car from the Citadel here for you, to take you to your meeting,” the receptionist, you barely remembered from last night, offered their explanation. Frowning, you marched to the tall window of the hotel and scanned the street.

“What model is it?” _Wouldn’t want to get into the wrong car, now would we? That would be the cherry on top of this downright perfect morning._ Your own sarcasm did little to improve your temper.

“Black Audi,” they began. You checked the cars outside. _Is every damn car in this city an Audi?_ “Registration TRH-.”

“Got it.”

You slammed the phone back in the receiver and shouldered your bag. Fuming from a rushed morning, you managed to leave the room and lock the door, before remembering your phone. You spat a curse through gritted teeth, retrieved the damned thing and then made your way to the lobby. The doorman had barely put a gloved hand on the brass bar before you threw the fine, glass door open and searched for the car again.

It hadn’t moved. Svelte, matte black and ever so formal, your eyes rolled at the thought of the boring, high-collar chauffeur driving it. They probably wore driving gloves, well-polished shoes and far too much aftershave. Still, this was a kindness from the king. One foreign diplomats were rarely afforded. To refuse would have only heightened tensions between Lucis, but particularly Insomnia, and Altissia. _Gondoliers are always far more exciting. Real people, with real stories. Gondoliers listened to their passengers, not to an engine._

You clenched your jaw and approached the car. The driver’s door opened, but you were in both a rush and a foul mood, so you’d swung yourself into the back seat before they could open your door for you. Once belted in, you reached into your satchel, familiarising yourself with the briefings for today’s meetings.

_Trade deals this, economy that… Where’s the soul in things, nowadays?_

“You L/N?”

“Yep.” Somehow you made such a casual statement pointed. You rifled through another report, silently cursing the askew pages.

Muttering came from the front seat. “Alright, buckle up, I guess.”

Five minutes into the journey and you’d already had enough of the papers. You took the time to pack them away neatly, reorganising your entire bag in an attempt to calm yourself. Trying to shake the tiredness from your mind, you watched as Insomnia passed by. A particularly quaint bistro gave you a pang of homesickness. Some things could never be beaten, and watching the Altissian sunrise over the sea, drinking fresh espresso and enjoying the fine, buttery pastries that filled the air with their sweet scent, was damn hard to beat. Your stomach grumbled loudly at the thought.

The breath that huffed through his nose was enough to earn your attention.

_Hang on…Is this the right car?_

No crisp white collar in sight. No suave black jacket, expensive (though not quality) watch. No pungent aftershave. No slicked-back hair. Longer, dark ash wisps moved gently with his head; tiny, rare braids hiding in it. His jaw was coated in a similar dark stubble, too long to have been shaven this morning, or anytime in the last three days, for that matter. Trailing down from that jaw was a single black line you mistook for a thread. When it moved with his neck, staying flush to his skin, your eyes searched the rest of him. The intricacies of his uniform defied his scruffy aesthetic.

This was no stuffy chauffeur. No Crownsguard subordinate sent to babysit. You’d only ever heard about the Kingsglaive. The elites were shrouded in mystery, and nobody seemed keen to solve it. The Glaive currently at the wheel was no Insomnian either. You were equal parts relieved and intrigued.

_Finally, someone who might have a shred of character to them._

He’d been speaking. You hadn’t noticed.

“Hmm?” you asked when he took a pause. Tired, but alert, eyes never left the road, and rarely flicked to the rearview mirror. It was like you weren’t there.

“You forget breakfast or something? Roaring up a storm back there.”

You narrowed your eyes lightly at his voice. It wasn’t quite what you’d imagined him sounding like, but that didn’t matter. After a quick glance at your watch, you frowned mournfully.

“No time. Meeting’s in five.”

He nodded slowly, eyes still trained on the traffic. “Get something afterwards. Don’t wanna cart you to the hospital.”

_Wait. Was he…giving a shit?_

“I’m sure I’d get an ambulance, in that case.”

The head tilt he gave was reluctant, as if he didn’t want to be here at all.

“Technically, _this_ is the only way you’re getting around. His Majesty’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes, mentally mocking the insistent formality of Lucians. They always babied their guests, to the point of stifling. All the rumours you’d heard in the boardrooms back home were proving themselves to be true. The ragged breath he let out at a sudden red light brought your attention back to him. He leant into his seat, hand lingering at the bottom of the wheel, the other resting on the gearstick. His eyes flicked to the mirror and fixed on you. After a quick once over, he looked back to the road.

“Name’s Nyx.”

“Y/N,” you replied, glad that he wasn’t staring you down in the mirror anymore.

There was an intensity to him that didn’t need to be targeted to be felt. It fizzed and crackled around him, as if any moment now he’d snap his fingers and lightning would spark between them. You weren’t looking forward to the next week. Even if he had more dimension to him than most chauffeurs, who were often as automatic as their vehicles, something unsettled you about him. He was _too_ different. He made you _too_ curious. Something about him warned you away.

Yet, you’d still given him your name. Just for this week.

* * *

Thursday, 7:26pm

“I’m telling you! It was like _this_ big!”

A red-gloved hand appeared in front of Nyx’s face. He batted it away and scanned the crowded road. _You’ve got two minutes._

“I’m serious! Luche thought he was gonna die, it was fucking hilarious” Tredd turned back in his seat, tapping on the window. “Dunno what he was so worried about; I was there. So, _naturally,_ I-.”

“Hightailed it outta there?”

“No. Guess who got to play hero, _hero.”_

“Stop,” Nyx murmured, accelerating lightly as he found a gap in the traffic. He cursed, running an unfairly fast red light, and turned onto one of the smooth, quiet stretches that lead him directly to the Citadel.

He cut the engine and sat back, waiting for you to come storming out of the front door. Just like every day. You’d jump in before he could open the door, not caring for that formality. You’d sit silently in the back seat. He’d stop outside the hotel, you’d get out and that would be all for the day. Job done.

Except today, Tredd was along for the ride.

“Do me a favour, yeah? Don’t say anything-.”

“Stupid? Rude? _Lewd?_ ” The redhead let the word play on his tongue, playfully wagging his eyebrows. “Come on, Nyxie. You know me! I’d never say anything ‘inappropriate’-.”

The inverted commas he signalled with his hands made Nyx roll his eyes, before fixing a deadpan stare on the dynamic expressions Tredd pulled.

“- because I’m completely professional. So there. I won’t say anything-.”

“At all. Just…keep your mouth shut.”

Tredd tutted before scratching at his stubble. _Wouldn’t be that bad if you didn’t bathe in aftershave._ Nyx settled back in his seat, fingertips absently tracing the leather of the steering wheel.

One more foreign dignitary to cart around. It was as if the captain didn’t think he was up to fieldwork anymore. _Maybe he doesn’t_. Being reduced to a babysitter felt a little harsh. They could’ve used anyone! Why him? Sure, there were the added security measures in place. A visitor from Altissia was a visitor from the Empire, after all. There were plenty of people out for blood. In choosing a Glaive, he was a driver and bodyguard, all in one. He still couldn’t pin why it had to be _him_ though.

_All the shit you’ve done, and you’re starting up with the ‘why me’ sob story? I don’t think so._

“Hey, that them?”

Puzzling interrupted, Nyx took a deep breath and turned to look.

“Yep.”

His gaze snagged. Flustered, frowning and wrestling a stack of papers, you were a mess. But the way the sun hit your hair, and made it shine softly… Not to mention the very professional outfit you’d chosen today, and he’d neglected to notice. Polished leather shoes, well-tailored grey trousers and an ivory shirt that had started the day pressed and crisp. Your own restless movements, frustrations you’d taken out, had loosened the creaseless fabric until it hung delicately. In the heat of the stuffy breakrooms you’d ranted silently in, you’d loosened the top two buttons. The Insomnian sunset washed you in warm shades and set delicate shadows around your exposed collarbone.

Nyx kept looking far too long.

“You- you gonna get the door?”

He shook his head, holding up his hand and silently counting down on his fingers. _Three…two…_ You wrenched the door open and threw your satchel in with enough force that it bounced against the opposite side of the car. _One and…_ Tredd jumped at the hefty slam you gave the door. Silent and focused, you pried a folder from the stack you’d collected over the day. Nyx started the engine and began to draw away.

“You trying to take the door off or something?”

Inhaling the silent composure you wore as armour, you blinked slowly, and opened your eyes to the report arranging trade of Altissian marble for Duscaean timber. Your _Nyx_ was feeling a little testy today. _Don’t rise to it._ The real Nyx was shaking his head, giving Tredd a pointed look. The redhead shrugged and turned in his seat.

“Bad day and _whoa…_ What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

Your glare met a pair of curious chestnut hues. He gave your frame a quick search before meeting your eyes. He looked far too innocent. _Definitely up to something._ Still, a week away from home and the company you could acquire at bars had left you a little wanting. It was a normal, healthy way to blow off steam. No harm done, as long as they knew you weren’t in this for the long run. You’d wanted your nights of fun, and you’d had plenty. The stress this trip had given you was beginning to bunch around your neck. It was the type that could only be worked out by a few bites and a couple of hours of indecent company.

Whoever this was, he wasn’t decent company. Over-eager, too obvious, and far from your usual standards, he looked at you with a certain cockiness, as if he was sure he’d worm his way into your bed. _If_ he had the class to even take you to bed. He seemed more of an impromptu type. He lacked refinement. What he did have was a roguish, boyish air to him. He was undoubtedly rude, selfish and narcissistic.

But he’d do.

“Not sure, try asking a mirror.”

He scoffed into a playful smirk that stretched the scar on his cheek. Your eyes lingered on it, but it only led you to his lips. Smooth, pink. A little paler than you’d have liked. _How much force would it take for them to match red wine?_

You cast your eyes back to the report. Aloof was more your style. Especially when you intended on leaving a fair number of marks on him. _Draw him in._

“Well now, you’ve got me there. Sheesh, and Nyxie here had me convinced you were no fun.”

“Tredd,” Nyx spoke with a warning tone. The redhead continued, jutting his chin up as he spoke.

“Oh come on, our VIP here’s had a bad day. It’s almost-.”

“Want to make it better?” You offered, fully looking up from your report. He froze for an instant, not sure if you were joking or not. You quirked an eyebrow with equal parts challenge and consideration.

“You bet I do… Nyx, step on it. Tredd’s got a world to rock.”

Throughout your exchange, Nyx had been fixed on the road, glad for the distraction of other motorists and changing lights. He seemed perfectly calm. What neither of you could see was the deepening storm in his eyes and the faintest clench of his jaw.

_He thinks he can just-_

_Just what?_

_Sleep with anybody, of course! Break conduct, the rules. Cap would skin him, if he were here._

_But he’s not. And now you’re the one having a tantrum. Other people not allowed to play with your toys, Nyx? Not your toys. Remember that._

He ground his teeth in some attempt to chew the flimsy thoughts away. Stirrings were occurring. Some faint fluttering in his gut that made him uneasy. A punch, he could take. Butterflies? Hell no. He hadn’t dealt with those since he was a kid, back in-

“NYX!”

He slammed on the brakes, shaking the flashes, the dust of rubble and the bitter reek of a burning city from his head. He held up a hand in apology to the enraged driver he’d almost t-boned and backed up a little before continuing on his way.

This was it. As soon as the captain heard about this, and Tredd would, no doubt, be unable to keep his damned mouth shut, Nyx wouldn’t have this assignment. He’d lose this.

_That kinda sucks._

* * *

Saturday, 2:58am

You wore red Altissian silk with pride. It had the elegance, class and refinement of your home. It was of the same high standards you held yourself to. The standards you’d maintained all evening. Airs, graces, formalities, you’d even taken a knee in front of the king. You’d been the perfect ambassador.

However, you’d forgotten one crucial fact; Lucians didn’t water down their wine.

It came from the various regions in barrels and was transported fast enough to make it easy cargo. Wine in Altissia often spent too long on a boat and needed stretching to be made palatable. You’d forgotten this and as a result, had enjoyed a few glasses too many.

This led to your current predicament, clutching a quiet and somewhat shy Glaive, as he led you away from the party, lest you become more intoxicated and make a mess of yourself. To be fair, you’d told him to do just that.

_“If I start losing it, make me leave. Don’t let me make excuses.”_

You trusted this man. He seemed friendly enough. Far more reserved than the redhead. This one had actually _blushed_ when you’d thanked him for plucking a fresh glass from your hand. The faint pink had deepened to rouge when he’d opened the car door for you, only to have you pat his cheek gently and slur another round of thanks.

He shut the door carefully, after making sure all of your wayward limbs were safely inside and puffed out a relieved breath. Nyx rolled the window down.

“You done for tonight?”

Pelna gave a puzzled look. “What time is it?”

Nyx leant back and squinted at the bright blue of the car’s clock. “Just after three.”

“Oh man! I was off duty two hours ago!”

“You were very dutiful! Lovely, _lovely_ man.” You mumbled, still trying to fasten your seatbelt. Drunk, but not stupid.

Nyx shook his head before looking at Pelna again. “Need a lift?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to drop the cargo off first, though.”

Pelna didn’t need any convincing. A migraine was brewing; he could feel the faint throb at his temples like someone was squeezing his head. He folded himself into the front seat and belted in, occaisionally turning to check on you in the back.

Sleepy as you were, you still had a sharp edge of humour waiting to cut the quiet, calm air of the car. The city was finally asleep, her roads emptier than Altissia’s moonlit canals had ever been.

“I wanna go home.”

Nyx gave you a quick glance in the mirror. This was followed by a slightly longer once over. Cheeks flushed, once perfectly styled hair mussed and the usual stiff formality half-melted away, you finally looked how you felt. Soft, tired, and a little lost. Nyx knew that feeling. His mouth fell open for a gentler expression he only allowed because of fatigue. Weary eyes watched empty roads and city lights pass silently.

A snort from the backseat grabbed his attention again.

“Pff, take me home,” you mused aloud, your own drunken mind getting the better of you. “Like that little ginger guy, he was dying to.”

Nyx’s mouth closed. Jaw clenched a little. It was Pelna who spoke up.

“Who, Tredd?” he yawned. “Tredd’s not ginger, he’s a redhead. Even then, it’s kinda brownish.”

“He’s not ginger _up there_ ,” you teased. You bit the inside of your lip and watched your driver tense some more. _Oh, now this could be fun._ “You guys seen what he’s working with?”

Nyx broke the speed limit by a fraction. _Roads are empty, it’s fine._

“I don’t know about you, I saw it in the showers once. He… wasn’t that impressive.”

“Nope, but he sure knows how to use it.” You waited a second before adding a quiet hum, just for effect. Satisfaction pooled in you, pulling a sly grin onto your face, as you watched the arrow on the speedometer begin to lean more to the right. _A car’s a car, but this guy knows how to drive one._

Nyx kept a sharp focus on the road ahead, ignoring the rare changing of lights. Green, orange, red, he didn’t care anymore. It was all go for him. He didn’t want to be in this car.

_Quit showing off. You’ll get somebody hurt._

As your quiet musings continued in the backseat, Pelna grew silent and fixed his gaze forward. He clamped his hands between his knees, focused on them. They weren’t moving, unlike the rest of the world. They weren’t blurring and swirling his gut with every flash of streaked colour.

“Nyx.”

No response. He stayed glued to the road, but not seeing any of it. His mind was full of more sinful images. _You’ve no right to think that about-_

 _“Nyx,”_ came through gritted teeth.

_And who’s to say Tredd did? I call bullshit. He hasn’t said jack about it, so it didn’t happen._

_You don’t know that._

Pictures of your hands woven through auburn locks, your lips parting in wanton sighs, of messed sheets and shadows in tandem filled his thoughts, all but blinding him. He cursed his own imagination for piecing together your frustrated growls and muttered curses, sweetening them into the moans and cries of more lustful moments.

_“Nyx!”_

“What?!” he snapped at Pelna. He’d turned ashy, mouth clamped firmly shut as his eyes watered. “Oh, shit.”

He brought the car to a halt as quickly and smoothly as he could, pulling over just in time for Pelna to throw his door open and half fall out. Nyx winced at the sound of retching, and the faint air of vomit that came back into the car with him.

“Sorry.”

“Me too,” Pelna nodded, eyes already sunken and resigned.

Nyx waited for him to catch his breath and took a wary look at you in the mirror. You’d almost sunken from view, draped across the backseat in the quiet, heavy sleep of too much wine, dancing and effort. His gaze lingered on the soft frown pulling at your face. _There’s the damn butterflies again._

_…_

_Just admit it._

* * *

Saturday, 7:43am

You sprinted through the lobby, all but barging through a crowd of new guests. The doorman knew better by now, and just stood back, wincing when you threw the delicate glass open. After locking on the car, you ran towards it and threw yourself inside.

You felt like you’d been kicked in the head then thrown in an oven. Everything was dry and taut and uncomfortable. _I’m never drinking again._

_Liar._

At least it wasn’t sunny. You had that much going for you. This morning, Insomnia was held in a sleepy haze, raindrops peppering the windows and darkening the streets in a soft deluge. Everything had rhythm this morning.  The tapping melody of the rain, the steady metronome of the windscreen wipers, the quiet thrumming engine as he climbed the gears. It helped ground you, steadied for the coming day. _Wonder how messed up everybody else got… That old boot from Lestallum had more than me_.

You massaged your temples, focusing loosely on the line of his tattoo, at the cross beneath his ear. The softer sounds were interrupted by the rattling crinkle of paper as he reached into the passenger seat.

“Here.”

His voice was soft thunder as he passed a small, folded bag to you. Stifling a yawn, you hesitantly took it. You were about to open it when his hand reappeared, holding a takeout cup. You abandoned the bag on the seat next to you and reached forwards, mind still too fuzzy to question it audibly. Your fingertip brushed along the thin, charcoal line of his tattoo as you accepted. His skin tingled, and he had to resist the urge to have sparks fly between his fingers.

“Got it,” you mumbled, gently taking the drink from his grip and wrapping your hands around it. The sheer warmth of it made you whimper to be back in bed, in soft sheets, dim lights and quiet solitude.

You took a tentative sip of the coffee. Watery, over-filtered and not nearly strong enough, you drank it anyway. Caffeine was caffeine. After draining the top two inches of the cup, you pinned it between your knees. As he drove into a tunnel, you were grateful for the gentle orange glow and the dulled echo of other commuters. You saw the light grey of the city surface up ahead and closed your eyes in anticipation of the stabbing pain it could give you in your current, very fragile, state. You took a deep breath…then another.

Aside from the smell of mediocre coffee, a sweet, warm scent carried through the air. You refocused on the paper bag, bringing it into your lap with another yawn. You unwrapped it slowly. Curious as to the contents, but fearful of the loud and surprisingly offensive noises paper was capable of, you peered inside.

It was a pastry. Soft, fresh, topped with a few flakes almonds and a dusting of powdered sugar. It was like the ones back home. You reached in to manoeuvre it in the bag, rearranging it to take a first bite. You stopped and glanced up at the man.

He palmed the steering wheel casually, rounding yet another of the sharp corners. His other hand reached blindly for his own coffee, only to draw a mouthful and hiss after swallowing it.

You broke the pastry in half, careful not to spill the sweet, nutty filling. Honey and almonds had always been a good combination, even the Insomnians knew that. Even Nyx knew that. You leant forwards and held out half, gesturing lightly for him to take it.

“Uh, I- it’s for you.”

_Wait, was he…stammering?_

“You bought it.”

“Yeah,” he kept his eyes militantly fixed on the road. “There was no way you were getting breakfast this morning, not after last night.”

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered darkly, stealing another sip of your coffee. You tilted the pastry towards him. “Take it.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I already ate.”

“Take it.”

“Seriously, I’m fine. Not hungry. Need to stay in shape, all this driving around’s making me-.”

“Nyx.”

He paused, stunned for a moment. He liked the sound of that. You were closer to him than ever. You could smell the clean mint and bitter tea-tree of his morning shower. It wasn’t overpowering; it wasn’t even strong. It was just there, as quiet and understated as the rest of him. He was extraordinary, and yet he blended in.

You moved forward even more, tilting your head around to get a decent look at his profile. The dark dusting of stubble clouded a strong jaw, and stormy blue eyes kept an artificial focus on the road. He had an earthy beauty to him, understated but regal. _Why’d you never look at him before?_

“Nyx, please,” you said softly, a gentle smile playing with your words.

“You need it more than I do.” _Please say my name again._

“Nyx, come on. Please.”

He looked at you, fixing you with a maelstrom gaze. There was no mirror between you now. No huge distance. No formality.

He croaked out a weak “Fine.”

You handed him half and retreated fully to the back seat to enjoy your own. It was still warm and fresh. It helped soak up coffee that could only be described as ‘meh’.

Nyx didn’t know if he could stomach it. Still, he took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. For a moment, you had him convinced that pastry was sweeter from your hand. He kept driving, taking slow bites every now and then. When he looked in the mirror, he was relieved to see you looking better. You’d perked up, nursing your cup and chewing silently as you perused a briefing on today’s meetings.

When you caught him looking in the mirror, you gave him soft smile before diving back into your report. He was grateful for your hard-working ways. You might’ve seen the faint blush heating his cheeks, or the smile he couldn’t quite dismiss. He shook his head at himself and took another sip of coffee.

You gave an appreciative hum after your final bite and washed it down with a final, bitter sip.

“Thank you.”

Flawed from a rushed morning and a long night, you weren’t the prideful, aloof diplomat he’d been promised.

He wasn’t the boring, stuffy, arrogant chauffeur you’d expected.

You were just two strangers in a car, drinking crap coffee and breaking bread while the rain poured.

* * *

Sunday, 7:59pm

Usually you’d have muttered curses in a violent string, occaisionally stretching an ‘f’ or growling out a particularly foul term. Usually you’d have fight. Usually you’d bar them into that meeting and not allow them to leave unless some compromise was found. You’d fight tooth and nail to ensure this deal benefitted both of you in a fair exchange. Usually.

Today was different. Today you were defeated.

So, you made your way through the lonely Citadel corridors. You weren’t ready to give up but at the same time you wanted to do nothing more than just that. You wanted to curl up in a bed, but you wanted to run. You wanted to move and be still. You…didn’t know what you wanted. Not really.

Nyx jumped when you opened the door quietly and folded yourself in, shutting it with a muted thud. He was immediately watching you, reading you in the mirror. You kept your eyes down, shoving your satchel away and refusing to look at another paper today.

You were done. You’d failed. It had been a long time, but it still stung and made you feel inexperienced, incapable and useless. You’d been reminded of your place, and that the claws of others were as sharp as yours.

You wanted to stay still. To be so motionless that you’d disappear. That desire came and went in pulses, and in the lulls you wrenched a folder from your bag. You couldn’t open it. It was heavy and threatening with reminders of every failed attempt. The brutalities of politics had been no secret, but the pain it could cause was often hidden well.

Nyx could see it. The fight had left you. All your vivacity, the feistiness, the sharp intellect and clever, adaptable mind. Today had dulled it. He frowned gently before pulling away, joining the hoards of traffic in the city centre. You tapped restlessly on the folder, unable to peer inside, but still hesitant to put it away. Restless. He made a decision.

After following around a third of the usual route, he split off from the main body of traffic and began to cruise into increasingly domestic neighbourhoods.

“Hey…where are we going? Has there been an accident or something?”

He shook his head gently and eased beside a park, driving slow enough for you to take in the view.

“Taking the scenic route.”

_I don’t want you to be alone right now._

“Oh,” you nodded weakly and settled back against the smooth leather.

You watched as the city rolled past, slow enough for you to witness it all. The sun was falling slowly into the west, painting long shadows. The citizens milled around, living their daily lives and just carrying on. Couples walked through the park, some with dogs, others with children. Office workers took their evenings runs. Flocks of birds descended on the trees to find a roost for the night. Everything was winding down.

As Nyx drifted into the west end of the city, your tapping fingers stopped. They smoothed over the cover of the folder. However, you still wore that frown and the tight jaw a day of holding your sharp tongue had given you. He’d seen you drunk out of your mind, hungover to high heaven, furious and yet this was the most upsetting. To see you defeated. To see you give up. He took a deep breath and decided to watch the city with you.

The sights passed in meditative rhythm. Restaurants, packed with chatting diners and softly lit by candles, made his mouth water. _You could just stop. We could definitely get a table._

_Since when was there a ‘we’?_

He wondered if wine would loosen the tension in your shoulders; if a decent meal would fuel you enough to plan your retaliatory move. He couldn’t help but think a few hours of quiet company in a softer surrounding would set you right. He wanted to set you right. His mind drifted.

_How much would it take?_

A reassuring shoulder squeeze? A brief hug? A soft kiss to the forehead? A harsher one to the lips? Fingertips trailing over skin, searching for answers and clues, searching with the sole purpose of discovering you.

The honey scented skin, that had lingered closer than ever the day before, had plagued him all night. The soft, satisfied smile you’d given him was something he wanted to recreate. Except maybe with flushed cheeks and a faint sheen of sweat. He wanted to hear you curse the world, the Astrals and him. Nyx was overcome with desire, but it wasn’t selfish. He needed to work every stress from every last fibre of you. You would writhe and blush with him until there was nothing in that head of yours but _how good this felt_. He’d take you to oblivion, and you’d be safe there. He wouldn’t stop until you were spent, mind cleared and ready to rest; only to rise again with purpose and intent, with the determination you had, and he admired.

“Nyx?”

“Hmm?” He stamped the heady thoughts down, suddenly aware of the heated descent of blood in his belly. He took a quick look down and mentally cursed.

_Please don’t lean forwards._

He loosened the white-knuckled grip he’d taken on the steering wheel and glanced at the clock. He’d been driving for an hour and a half, passing through neighbourhoods without even seeing them as if he’d read a chapter, only to forget it ever happened.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded.

He waited a moment before glancing in the mirror. You’d leant your head back, relaxing more with every breath as the world moved past and you stayed still. Motionless in motion. Time was pulling the stress away with every moment spent on the road.

When he turned onto streets familiar even to you, a foreigner, a quiet sense of dread built up in your gut. The hotel appeared ahead. He saw the mild frown pull onto your face but said nothing. _Trust me, this is for the best._

“Hey, Nyx?” you asked, leaning forwards to rest your chin on his seat. He turned his head back a little but kept his eyes on the road. “Can we keep going?”

_We._

He raised his eyebrows and didn’t try to suppress the honest smile. Nodding, he replied in that soft thunder that soothed you. His voice was the settled rumbling of a distant storm, of potential.

“Okay.”

The quiet hum you gave made his smile more permanent. You kept your head where it was, quietly taking in the clean, fresh scent of him and the view through the windscreen.

Soft, warm breaths passed his neck, not close enough to be sinful, but near enough to be intimate. Innocent. Each felt like a summer breeze, floating with butterflies.

* * *

Tuesday, 5:14am

He wished the light had stayed red.

The streets were quiet as he drove towards the port. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the eastern sky was blushing pale peach ahead of him. He felt sick. _Bad kebabs. Don’t let Luche pick the place next time._

_Don’t lie to yourself, Nyx._

You were silent in the back. After a more victorious day yesterday, only possible because of Nyx’s calming effect on Sunday night, you’d managed to secure a fairer deal for both Accordo and Lucis. You couldn’t have done it without him. A substantial number of people were going to owe him an awful lot, but you owed him more. You owed him breakfast, you owed him sleep and you owed him your thanks.

None of which you had the decency, or nerve, to offer. You’d stared down the most powerful people in Eos. You’d openly refused, denied, and ignored their station to prove that yours had power too. Head up, shoulders back, jaw set, claws out. That was your way. Ballsy and targeted. Yet, one Glaive made you speechless; one driver who’d done nothing extraordinary for you had silenced you. One man had drifted increasingly into your thoughts and all too late.

He pulled into more industrial surroundings, rarely competing with lorries for space on the road. He didn’t overtake, he just lingered in the traffic. The sea glistened ahead, interrupted by the thieving silhouette of the ferry. You took a peek into your bag, desperately hoping you’d forgotten your ticket, or better yet lost it. No such luck. It was right there. Stamped and ready, the instructions for a ship to bear you home.

You wanted to go home, no doubt about it. Homesickness had dulled into a quiet drone that blended with this city’s traffic. Altissia was calling. Your apartment, your favourite cafes and bars, the pier that looked straight at the sunrise. You’d get back and open the door and then… you’d be alone. You’d take a gondola to work in the morning and you wouldn’t talk to the gondolier, because they had so many stories to tell that they rarely listened. All stories were the same anyway. Jilted lovers, elopement and betrayal.

Altissia was too romantic. It was too easy for romance to bloom there, making it weaker and as watered as the wine. It was stretched to fill every crevice and coated the walls like a sea spray. Excellence was everywhere.

Insomnia was different. The good things were hard to find; decent coffee, aesthetic views and, ever so rarely, romance burst from a brick wall and blossomed with the rushed potency of a late summer rose. The roughness of this city made the smooth sweeter.

He pulled into a parking bay and kept the engine running.

_Don’t open the door, Nyx. Just keep driving._

You took a deep breath and gave the back of his head another mournful look, glad he couldn’t see you. Somehow, he could read you, and right now he’d get one message.

_Please keep driving._

The two of you sat in silence. Time ticked by and each second the voices in his head got louder.

_You should’ve known. This was a stupid move. You’re a grown man, for fucks sake!_

_Some things can’t be helped._

_You can’t fix this, Nyx. You can’t make this work. It won’t work. You’re not wanted._

He wrestled to get the words out of his mouth. “It’s time.”

You hummed dully in response, gathering up your satchel and suitcase from the seat beside you and clambering out of the car. Then you faced him for the first time.

He was taller than you thought he’d be. Well built. He had a casual air around him that had turned a little stiff in the situation. If nothing else, you recognised the stormy blue eyes that had caught yours in the mirror more than once, bright and piercing from under dark brows. They didn’t meet you at first, as he stood, arms crossed to hold himself up. Even when he spoke, he didn’t look at you.

“See you around,” he nodded gently, a subtle and forced smile playing on his lips. He turned to the sea, softly lit by the sunrise. There was that profile you recognised.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll uh- I think the Empire was planning on a trip in May. I might get chosen as the Accordo rep.”

He turned back to you, looking at your shoes before glancing up. You liked him from this angle. “They couldn’t pick anyone better.”

You blushed just as he scoffed into a smile at his own loose tongue. “I…”

“Dinner?” he asked. _Was he…blushing too? No, just a trick of the light._ “Or breakfast? Lunch? Anything really. When you get back.”

_“If-.”_

“I’m sure you will,” he nodded in earnest and good faith. You found yourself smiling at him, and seeing you smile only widened his.

“My treat. You pick the place.”

“Okay…Let me know when to pick you up,” he agreed, unfolding his arms. You checked your watch and shouldered your satchel. You let your eyes linger on him, taking him in as if was going to be the last time.

* * *

A month later, when the city lay in flames and the betrayals came to the surface, turned out it was the last time.


End file.
